cabbages and kings
by Ferdinand with Flowers
Summary: your sins are weighing me down /kanji/yosuke/


and, yet, another story i will never finish. let's hope to change that, eh?  
a cellection of vignettes, drabbles, oneshots, whathaveyou all revolving around some kind of story.  
dammit, this means i'll never finish it. oh well.

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I. espíritu del río simpática

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Kanji likes to take a fag on his off time.

It's a little guilty pleasure thing, something that he's sure as hell he will regret doing, but it's a small comfort (luxury) that allows him take his mind off the everyday.

His eyes lift sky bounds, the color of hazel greedily drink up the clouded sky guarding the edges of the Inaba river brook. It looks like rain, he deduces to himself as he zips up the flap of a leather biker jacket, (fuck, man, was Rise jealous when she found out **I **made _it) _as he takes a long drag out of his Junes brand cigarette.

The thinning wisps of smoke, (lavender, curls, _lose yourself) _trail thinly out of his mouth and the passages of his nostrils, sagelike.

The burnt content of the cigarette tastes like pure menthol shit, but it's free, and that's all that matters as Kanji, left foot planted on a rock dipped in the river bank (posture so fuckin' cool), flicks a cigarette butt into the deep water.

Yoskue, ass sitting cross-legged on the edge of what the little people of Inaba had the horror to call a 'harbor,' watches Kanji out of the corner of his eyes. He wrinkles his nose in disgust as he listens to the shrill screams of dying embers.

"You know, that's bad for the environment," he mumbles as his eyes recede back into the waters, and damned if he can't just jump in and reclaim Kanji's transgression.

"Fuck the environment," a growl over the water, then there's the vibration of zippers opening and a hand rummaging the folds of an inner pocket. A match is lit and a cig (something I bought for you out of my own money, you _ungrateful_ bastard) is dragged upon, as Yosuke closes his eyes and snorts in the bitter aftertaste of menthol.

Kanji shouts something (in your typical _Kanji_ voice) but when Yosuke doesn't seem to take notice, he makes his way to the harbor.

The tips of Kanji's suede shoes touch the underside of Yoskue's bottom region in a playful kick. Yosuke ignores him, but when the kicks become more forceful, does he acknowledge Kanji's presence with an annoyed 'hmm.'

"Didja get the supplies," he inquires after taking a long drag on his already thinning cigarette.

Yosuke's eyes are still closed, and for a minute, he wonders why he's here. He sighs, trying desperately to defy the curls of smoke constantly around Kanji's shoulders, as he takes off one of his polyester gloves with his mouth, and digs through the pockets of his coat.

He pulls out nothing at first: lint, strings, receipt, until he hits gold. His hands are shaking (from cold, nervousness, _anticipation _) as both boys stare at the sharp edges of a Junes brand condom resting forlornly in Yosuke's palm.

"Perfect, man," Kanji's hand swoops down, skin touch against skin (good, god man, but your hands are so fuckin' puny)(do you think maybe… maybe we can hold hands someday?) as he brings the prize up to examine it at a closer proximity.

"Was it hard getting it?" there's a feral glint in Kanji's eyes, and Yosuke's spine shudders in the cold breeze. He softly shakes his head no.

"I… pick pocketed them," Kanji grins from ear to ear as Yosuke digs his chin into his chest in disappointment (_in myself) "_couldn't, you know, just let the parents see I bought them."

Yosuke looks away with a feeling he can't name, as Kanji licks his lips.

"I'm proud I rubbed off of you," there's a hunger in his voice, and Yosuke imagines himself the lamb for the slaughter, "where do you wanna fuck?"

He's grinning, and Yosuke can't believe Kanji was once a self conscious boy, scared of his own sexuality. Yosuke shrugs, and finds himself thinking of Souji, off resting in somecityorother, forgetting the people he seemed to care about.

'dear souji' Yosuke remembers texting him one lonely night, a loudly snoring Kanji sleeping choatically away in the car that Ms. Tatsumi lavished her only son with, 'do you remember that time when the girls pushed us into the river?'

Souji never texted back.

"In your car, I guess, if it's really that important to you," And Kanji's lips are stained in blood, as he flicks yet another butt into the river. Yosuke turns his head to the side, (poor, poor river spirit) as he finally looks up at Kanji.

"In the back of your car, I guess," Kanji is smirking now, as Yosuke repeats himself, and looks back the ceaseless river, "Just give me a second."

Yosuke listens as the heels of Kanji's shoes crunch the ever green grass, and only when it slowly starts to rain, does he make his way over to the forlorn roadway overlooking the river.

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disclaimer  
and  
concrit greatly appreciated


End file.
